


αργία

by In_Time_of_Peril



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, There are some possible hints of shippiness, but mostly I just wanted this to be funny.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Time_of_Peril/pseuds/In_Time_of_Peril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Together, the Doctor and the Master must fight to survive the terror that is an Alpine vacation!</p>
            </blockquote>





	αργία

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gluecookie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gluecookie).



> Prompt fill for the 2015 Classic Who Secret Santa.  
>  _Third Doctor/DelgadoMaster, terrible vacation in the alps AU. Just a disatrous vacation where everything goes wrong._

He had no idea what had possessed him to agree to all of this. All right, so he had needed a little holiday. And perhaps he had been working too much for his own good lately.  
  
Still, that was no reason to drop everything, rush off to the mountains, strap some slats to your feet, and go careering over ice and snow. No doubt this would all end in trouble. Not really amusing, but rather par for the course as his real aim in agreeing to this little plan had been specifically to keep the Master **out** of trouble.  
  
So far, he had mostly succeeded in keeping things calm, though it had taken more effort than it was really worth to keep his best enemy from vaporising the desk clerk who had at first failed to find their reservation in the computer.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, I really don't see..."  
  
The Master had just been reaching into an inner anorak pocket when the Doctor quickly grabbed his arm.  
  
"Perfectly understandable," the Doctor had soothed, and then he had been very charming and their reservation had been punched up on the computer in no time.  
  
Of course, then there had been the incident at dinner on the second day of the trip. It was bad enough that their room was drafty and slightly leaky, the staff was rude and their service atrocious, and that whoever owned the lodge seemed to think that "hot water" was more a suggestion than a real expectation. Then, the food down in the small dining room had turned out to be nearly inedible  
  
Oh, and also, the wines on offer all seemed to have long since become vinegar.  
  
"Just let me destroy **someone** ," the Master had gasped after spitting a mouthful of horrible choucroute into a napkin.  
  
"My dear fellow, if you had your way, there would be no staff left here at all. Then who would help us to load all of your luggage up for the trip back?"  
  
The Master just grunted and went on trying to cut his rubbery mutton.  
  
But of everything, of all the thousand and one little disasters, the real moment of things going too far had been - well, today. They had awakened after a rather peaceful sleep, and while the Doctor tripped his way down to the lobby (quite literally; every third or fourth stair rod in the place was loose), the Master had opted to take the lift. When he didn't appear after a half-hour, the Doctor felt a nervous compulsion to start checking things. The TCE was still in his pocket, where it had been since the evening before. He had watched at dinner as well, making certain that no cutlery could be absconded with.  
  
His catalogue of worrisome thoughts was instantly snapped closed when he noticed quite a number of staff members acting slightly anxious, going up and down the stairs and some moving quietly beyond a door marked "Staff Only" that was behind the desk.  
  
Whistling softly, the Doctor made himself very inconspicuous and sidled over toward that forbidden door. Just inside, he saw what looked like a maintainence room of some sort.  
  
"Any trouble?" he asked a young man who emerged a moment later.  
  
"Oh, it's nothing sir, really."  
  
"Seems like an awful lot of hubbub for nothing."  
  
The man winced and muttered something about a stuck lift before rushing upstairs to join the others.  
  
"Oh dear me," the Doctor sighed, and then he almost smiled as he turned with a shrug and headed out into the frosty air. At least he might get a moment's peace now.  
  
Just as the Doctor was, for the sixth time, assuring the ski instructor that he knew perfectly well what he was doing, that he had grown up in the mountains for goodness sake, the Master had appeared, tromping along from the lodge. He was slightly rumpled, face screwed into an expression of utter contempt.  
  
"You could have waited up," he muttered, grabbing the second set of skis the Doctor had rented.  
  
"My dear fellow, you said I should try to enjoy myself on this trip."  
  
"Oh, and you enjoy leaving your oldest friend, your boon companion, your best man, stuck in the equivalent of a shoebox while idiotic primitives bang away at the works with random tools?"  
  
The Doctor tilted his head thoughtfully to one side, then nodded.  
  
"Yes," he said, "I do."  
  
And then he had taken off down the slope. He could hear the Master still grousing, trying to work out the ski fastenings, and then he sensed that the pursuit had begun.  
  
"You'll never catch me, you know!" the Doctor cried over his shoulder.  
  
"I **always** catch you!"  
  
"I'm afraid you've got it rather the wrong way 'round, my dear - HWOOOF!"  
  
In failing to pay attention to the direction of his travel, the Doctor had begun to drift very decidedly to his left, just a bit at a time. This would not have been a problem on many other days, but just today, the fellow who drove all of the plows and other machinery that was used to keep the trails smooth and easy had changed settings. The snow redepositing from the machine had formed a solid wall just a meter closer than usual to the edge of the trail.  
  
As the Master dragged him out of the snowbank, the Doctor shuddered, sneezed, and uttered a word that had once very nearly gotten him kicked out of the Academy.  
  
"Are you all right?" the Master asked, and there was very genuine concern in his voice.  
  
"I think I broke my - all of me," the Doctor slurred.  
  
They had made their way back to the lodge, and, after the physician on staff had given the Doctor a clean bill of health, they trudged up to their room. Dinner was sent up tonight, and it was actually well made. Or perhaps it seemed that way after they had consumed a few complimentary bottles of brandy.  
  
"Let's have a holiday, you said. We can have a good time, you said."  
  
"Oh, my dear Doctor," the Master cooed, filling his glass once more, "you know very well that you wanted to come along. Or rather that you were ordered to keep an eye on me, and so you couldn't very well **not** come along."  
  
"I take no orders from anyone."  
  
"Really? Well, you seem happy to do exactly what - what's the fellow's name again? Tallish chap, weedy little moustache..."  
  
"Weedy? Have you looked at yours lately?"  
  
The Master frowned, stroking his facial hair concernedly for a moment.  
  
"I'm perfectly well groomed. Always have been, you know."  
  
"Yes, yes. I'm sure it was your immaculate grooming that always kept you in the good graces of all our instructors."  
  
"That and my natural charm," the Master grinned, swigging back his brandy quickly, then standing and moving over to rummage in one of his suitcases. He pulled out a small paper packet and tossed it into the Doctor's lap.  
  
"What is..."  
  
"It's your birthday, Doctor. Surely you remembered that."  
  
Deciding not to respond, the Doctor instead picked up the packet and stared at it for a long moment.  
  
"Plastic explosive that'll go off right in my face as soon as I even begin to open it?"  
  
"Have a little faith," the Master chided.  
  
After another good, long stare, the Doctor dared to tease open the paper with the very tips of his fingers and peer inside.  
  
"What - what on Earth..."  
  
"Sweets. I seem to recall that you always had a bit of a sweet tooth when we were at school."  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
"But nothing, my dear Doctor. I may have also heard you mention to Miss Grant once that you were rather fond of these - jellied babies..."  
  
"Jelly babies."  
  
"Yes. That seems more likely."  
  
The Doctor peered down into the packet once more, sniffing cautiously.  
  
"You've not laced them with something..."  
  
"On my honor as an Oakdown."  
  
Deciding the risk could very well be worth it, the Doctor extracted a couple of sweets from the packet, offering one to the Master.  
  
"What do they taste like?" the other Time Lord asked, but then popped the jelly baby into his mouth before the Doctor could answer.  
  
"It - depends on the colour."  
  
"Hmm. Yes."  
  
The Master was chewing thoughtfully, apparently savouring his treat.  
  
"Mild orange flavour," he said, "though with hints something heavier in the aftertaste. Still, quite delightful."  
  
"Well, I'm glad that you approve," the Doctor said, popping three jelly babies into his own mouth at once.  
  
As before, the Master stood, but this time he crossed to the Doctor, pulled him to his feet, and offered a most unexpected and very warm embrace.  
  
"Happy birthday, my old friend."  
  
"Yes.  Well. Hmm. Happy birthday - er, I mean..."  
  
The Master stepped away, chuckling, and headed for the door of their room.  
  
"I'm going to have a cup of coffee in the dining room. Join me if you wish."  
  
As the door closed, the Doctor felt a smile creep across his lips. Perhaps, in the end, this holiday had been worth it after all. Sliding a hand casually into his pocket, he shook his head, bemused at his old friend's thoughtfulness.  
  
And in the next instant, he panicked.  
  
"Oh, for goodness..."  
  
Racing out of the room, the Doctor hoped that he would catch the Master before the lodge's entire staff ended up on the wrong end of the TCE.


End file.
